


doctor, doctor, give me the news

by ryanreynolds



Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff, M/M, Motherhen Liebgott, Sick Webster, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-15
Updated: 2017-06-15
Packaged: 2018-11-14 09:52:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11205609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ryanreynolds/pseuds/ryanreynolds
Summary: The worst thing was that the day had started out great. And then it all pretty much went downhill from there.Or, Webster goes to work sick, and Joe really isn't impressed to say the least.





	doctor, doctor, give me the news

**Author's Note:**

> Title from 'Bad Case of Loving You'.
> 
> No harm intended towards the real persons of Easy Company, this is all built on the characters of HBO's Band of Brothers.

The worst thing was that the day had started out great. Not flawless of course – he had a headache and his throat was aching, but he was well-rested and actually looked forward to the day – but at the time it hadn’t really mattered.

On another day he could without a doubt called in sick, but it had been impossible today of course – a huge deal was to be signed at this very day, and it was Webster who had gotten the contract home. His bosses would never let him stay at home for the chance that someone, some _idiot_ , might ruin the deal they’d worked hard on for a year. His division leader, Sobel, probably did not think any deal short of the Versailles deal was more important than this one deal that was to be signed to _day, if you would, Webster_.

So he took some painkillers, made a liter of tea to-go, and kissed Joe farewell. His luck that his boyfriend was still asleep after a stressful night shift – if he’d been just a little bit awake, he’d have seen Webster’s pale, slightly sweaty skin, hear his groggy voice and see his glazed over eyes, and tackle him to bed after two seconds. Yeah, best to let him keep on sleeping.

“See you later, Lieb. Sleep well”, he whispered and made his way down the stairs and down into the garage-basement of the building where his car was parked.

The ride to work was tedious to say the least; it was raining, his head was killing him, his throat seemed to have been clogged altogether and no amount of coughing and wheezing seemed to make any difference. This day was already beginning to suck, and he was still at least a good 8 hours away from being home. Fuck off with this Monday already, god damn it.

His mother would get a heart attack if she could hear his language. But then again, there were so many things about him these days that didn’t really correlate with the boy she had known. She probably wouldn’t recognize him at all, if it came to it.

As he parked the car and began the walk to HQ, his head swam dizzingly and as the doors parted in his way, he was forced to take a couple of seconds with his head in his hands and just breathe.

“Hey, Web!”, a cheerful voice suddenly called and broke through the foggy wall his brain had built around as to not hear any of the sounds that made his head ache.

He opened his eyes slowly and looked up at one Pat Christenson walking towards him at a great speed. “Oh, hey, Pat. How’re you doing?”

“Great, great, never better,” he answered as his hands latched onto Webster’s jacket. “Now, you, are late and I think that Sobel is gonna have an aneurysm within the next five minutes if you don’t show up and walk through the door like a goddamn angel right from Heaven and Big JC.”

Webster didn’t really have the time to realize what was going on until they were by the elevators, waiting. “You don’t sound that worried about him, to be honest, Pat.”

Christenson waved his hand. “Ah, well, it’s not that big of a loss. I can live with it.”

“I’ll be sure to send him flowers for you, in case he falls over.” Webster concluded.

“You truly are godsend, Webbie,” Christenson cooed at him as he pushed him into the elevator. Webster’s mind only just caught what Christenson had called him, as last mentioned began speaking again. “Okay, so your Harvard assholes, including our dear beloved Talbert stalling like his goddamn life depended on it, are all in Conference Room 101. When these doors open, you are gonna run like hell, until you are about two meters from the room. Then you’re gonna walk all nice and princess-y, like usual.”

“Dickhead,” Webster muttered as he nodded his understanding. The motion made the world spin, and he widened his eyes to take in as much as the world as possible and maybe find an object or something that wasn’t swimming.

And then he was on the floor, and Christenson was shaking him and yell-whispering. “Wake the fuck up, Webster! What the fuck is the matter? God fucking no, Web, come on!”

He took a deep breath, deep inhale, and it sounded wet, and dying, and broken. His voice sounded the same. “I’m alright, Pat. If you’d help me up?”

“The fuck you are,” Christenson hissed but extended his hand and helped him by supporting his back. “After this, I’m gonna call Liebgott, and you’re gonna go straight home and stay there the next week.”

Webster nodded. “As soon as this deal is closed.”

Christenson smiled, wrapped Webster’s arm around his neck and began walking forwards at a small speed. “Yeah, you’re gonna do great, ‘long as you actually manage to keep yourself upright, standing, and _awake_. E-section is cheering for you.”

“Even Nix?”, Webster asked, remembering the break-up that had transpired not weeks before. Nixon had been pretty down after that, especially because Katherine had taken his dog. Nixon loved that dog.

“You kidding? Especially Nix. Dude’s took his private alcohol supply with him, so we can celebrate.” Christenson patted him on the back. “Now, you go in there and make us all proud, son.”

Webster rolled his eyes at the Sink impression. “Please, you’re no Luz.”

Their unsteady walk slowed to a halt as Webster began tapping at Christenson’s side in warning. He felt like he might vomit.

“You wound me, Web.” But he smiled at Webster and his eyes were deeply worried. “You feel alright?”

He nodded, once again. “If you’d perhaps help until we’re the two meters away?”

“’Course, buddy.”

As they began moving once again, the world began to spin, and Webster felt like throwing up, and passing out, and just essentially giving up. Which was pathetic really, but he couldn’t really focus on that with a head as aching as if it’d been hit with a hammer, vision so unfocused that he was worried he might need glasses, and a throat that tasted like acid. 

Webster was having a shit day, mildly put. The day that was supposed to be his day of days, his day of glory, was the worst day of his career. _Yeah, fuck_ , as Joe would’ve put it.

“Just four meters to go, and you’re already looking better,” Christenson encouraged, “it’s probably those Harvard douches. You can feel your kind getting nearer.”

Webster decided to graciously ignore it and thereby stay above it and him, and resorted to a downright embarrassing plea. “Are you gonna stay in the room?”

“Yeah, of course,” he reassured him, “Tab, Speirs, Dick, Nix, Lip, and I are all sitting and cheering. And now, also on the verge of our seats, ready to jump and catch you as you faint like a maiden.”

“You’re all dickheads.” And thus Webster abandoned all high ground he had tried to maintain.

They neared the door, and Webster began pushing away from Christenson with a ‘I’m good’ and a ‘thank you’. The walk to the door was unsteady and he felt like he might faceplant the ground twice, if Christenson hadn’t been there beside him to steady him.

“Good luck,” Christenson whispered as he opened the door for him.

Webster smiled at him, before taking a deep breath. _Business mode, Kenyon. Smile for the camera, don’t let them see beyond it._

This was gonna go _great_ , no doubt about that. In fact, his father probably would’ve been so very proud of how well this deal had gone, if it wasn’t for the whole disowning debacle. Messy affair.

“And here he comes!” Sobel’s annoying voice cut through the room, and Webster’s head ached at the sound of it. “The prodigal son!”

Webster blinked once, twice, thrice, and then finally did the world seem to clear. True to Christenson’s word; Talbert, Speirs, Winters, Nixon, Lipton, and the extra addition of Chuck Grant himself were all sitting on one side of the table, with Jones and his Harvard guys – as literally everyone but Webster himself put it – on the other. A deep breath, and then David’s lips curved into a smile.

The show had started.

And it had gone surprisingly well, after Talbert had gone out of his to keep him refueled on water throughout the whole speech. And Grant kept pinching him in the arm, as his eyelids grew heavy during Jones’ eloquent – and ‘ _Jesus, what an asswipe, Web, how could you stand negotiating with him for a year?_ , as Grant mumbled lowly – speech that told everyone something about a promise of friendship and money for all of them. With money obviously being the only thing that wasn’t bullshit.

And then came the moment they had all been waiting for. In preparation, Jones went to his men and got the contract, and Webster downed three cups of water and spent the rest of the time trying to clear his vision and make his headache go away.

“You’re gonna do great, Web,” Talbert whispered and gave his shoulder a squeeze. “as long as you don’t pass out, there’s no one more suited and qualified than you.”

“Yeah,” Webster agreed with a hoarse voice that made Lipton’s eyebrows rise to the ceiling. “Except for the whole passing out thing, we’ve got nothing to worry about.”

“That’s the spirit!”, Talbert proclaimed and gave him a reassuring smile.

Up until this day, he had wanted and wished deeply that Joe could’ve joined him as he finally had success, wanting for Joe to smile that damn proud smile of his that made Webster feel warm all over. But as he slowly got up and felt everything tilt around him, he was pretty glad that Joe wasn’t there; the bastard would call for the whole thing to be postponed.

He got about three steps in the direction of Jones and the contract before the small dots took away his field of vision, and he made a little yelp as his foot knocked against a chair. A hand surged out to help steady him and he smiled gratefully. Or at least attempted to.

“Hey, Nix,” Web tried to call and meant to follow, “I don’t feel so good.”

But everything had gone dark, and no noise was heard.

********

This is what happened: an ambulance had been called, which Web learned as he slowly woke up with the biggest headache of his life. They told him he’d gotten an infection of some kind along with low blood pressure after a few tests.

That wasn’t the bad part.

Then everybody surrounded him, spoke with loud voices, if he was alright? He tried to nod as best as he could. Even if he couldn’t really hear what they were saying because of the ringing in his ear, this wasn’t the worst part as well.

The best and the worst part was when everyone was stunned into silence at a loud “what the fuck is happening here?”

Webster blinked a few times before his brain processed the voice and everything began screaming Liebgott. He smiled hazily.

“Lieb...” His voice was soft and his words were slurred, and his head was hurting, and his body was aching, and his vision was wrong somehow, but all he could think of was that Joe was here and that made it alright somehow. He’d be alright.

Joe moved into his perimeter of vision, and at first Webster dully noted that he looked kind of angry, and then as his eyes roamed over Webster’s body and someone somewhere – it might’ve been Skinny, it sounded like Skinny – told him ‘he’s sick, some kind of infection, low blood pressure, ‘s been passing out on us a few times’.

“God, Web,” Joe’s voice sounded more concerned than angry at that, and Webster smiled at that. He didn’t want to make Joe angry – though somewhere in the back of his mind, he remembered that he’d known _exactly_ how pissed Joe would be at him going to work sick. “We’re going home now, how about that, buddy?”

Webster nodded weakly and did his best to make his muscles work so he could get up.

“Want a little help with him?”, Christenson’s – it was definitely Christenson – voice asked. Joe just nodded.

The trip home went by in a flash; as soon as Webster was manhandled into the car, he fell asleep. A restless sleep but a sleep nonetheless. In this sleep his head didn’t ache and Joe’s eyes didn’t burn right into his very soul.

“Hey, Web,” a hand caressed his cheek, and he began to blink groggily. “That’s right, wake up, Web.”

“Joe?” His voice was as rough as sandpaper and it hurt to talk.

“Yeah, liebling,” Joe softly agreed, “I’m here.”

A smile spread across Webster’s lips and he opened his eyes slowly. “Good to see you, Lieb.”

“Yeah, don’t get too comfortable, you bastard,” Joe bit but it was said with a fond smile, so Webster didn’t really take too much notice of the threat. “I’m still pissed as hell at you, but it’ll have to wait until you’re upstairs in your bed where you won’t look so damn miserable.”

“Why’s that?”, Webster wondered out loud, thinking of what could possibly make him look worse for wear than being drowned in blankets and pillows.

Joe grinned at him and kissed his cheek, rested his forehead against Webster’s cheekbone.

“Well, for one, you’re gonna have me and my fabulous cooking skills,” Joe informed him, “and two, you’re gonna have that awful shark of yours to cuddle.”

Webster smiled at the thought until he cracked his eyes open – when had he even closed them? - and caught Joe’s scowl. “Nah, what do I need a shark for, when I have you?”

Joe smiled up at him. “Damn right, you don’t need that blue whale.” And then it was like Joe remembered that he was angry. “But don’t think you’re off the hook yet. I have a lot of pent up anger at you for just wandering off to work when you can barely stand straight.”

Webster winced a little at his tone. “Yeah, now that you mention it.”

Joe leaned back with a satisfied smile and patted him on the cheek. “Good, as long as you know it’s coming. Now, let’s get you upstairs so you can sleep.”

Webster smiled at him before leaning forward and capturing his boyfriend’s lips. Pulling back slowly, he whispered, “thanks for coming and getting me.”

Joe looked at him with soft eyes and nodded hesitantly until his brain seemed to catch up with everything, and then he scowled and shuddered. “Urgh, you bastard. I’m gonna cough on you for a month if I get sick because of you.”

He cast one last glare at Webster before getting out of the car. Webster just grinned smugly at hearing Joe cursing at him the whole way out of the car and around to his door.

“Well, come on, Harvard, we don’t have all day,” Joe tried to fake annoyance but Webster simply raised his eyebrows.

“We do, actually.” He pointed out with a little smile.

He deserved full marks, he really did, for trying so hard to maintain his glare. And it would have been effective if Webster hadn’t been sick and couldn’t really think straight, and just laughed at the look of his boyfriend stubbornly maintaining a frown and pushing his lips down into a straight line instead of the smile that was threatening to break out.

“God, you’re a dick, Webster,” Joe muttered, “why do I put up with you?”

He pretended to think about it before smiling innocently. “Because you love me?”

Joe shook his head in exasperation. “Oh, I see how it is, you’re one of those smug arrogant bastards when you’re sick.”

“As opposed to you being one all the time?” 

“Alright, that’s it,” Joe threw his hands in the air, “you’re gonna get your own ass upstairs. To third.”

Webster’s brain took three seconds on the clock to figure out what he meant by watching his boyfriend’s retreating back. “Wait, wait, Joe. Help me.”

Joe’s steps halted and he spun around before walking back to him. “You’re lucky I love you so damn much.”

Webster kissed his forehead as the other helped him out and assisted him back to their home. “I love you too, my angry German.”

“Shut up,” Joe said, but he gave Webster’s arm a squeeze and turned his head to give him a quick kiss on the lips, and he couldn’t help but think that maybe it was all worth it if he got to have this openly concerned and caring Joe all to himself.

With Joe’s help they quickly got upstairs to third and Joe all but dragged him into their bed. Webster sank down into the covers with great relief, feeling exhaustion and his stiff limps overwhelm him. Just lying here felt like paradise to be honest.

He felt arms wrap around him and he, without thought, turned so he could lean against the warm wall beside him and his head quickly found way to rest on Joe’s chest. He felt lips against his forehead and a hand lightly run through his hair.

“I love you, Joe,” he whispered contendly as he felt sleep claim him.

“I love you too, liebling,” the reply sounded, words soft with a loving and tender tone, “rest and get well, yeah?”

Webster only nodded and Joe’s arms fastened their grip around him. Yeah, so maybe, in the end, the day hadn’t been so terrible after all.

**Author's Note:**

> God, I've been wanting to write about these two ever since I rewatched Band of Brothers. I hope I did them enough justice :)
> 
> If you want, my ask box is always open at henrycaevill.tumblr.com


End file.
